


Never Enough

by ChaosDragon (PlotWitch)



Series: Till Death Do We Part [5]
Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Necromancy, Past Relationship(s), as in necromancy that is relevant to the plot, not just anita doing her job
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-26
Updated: 2003-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-22 21:07:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19984864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlotWitch/pseuds/ChaosDragon
Summary: On the anniversary of Edward’s death, Anita gets the call. Van Cleef has been found.





	1. Chapter 1

It’s funny.

Sometimes when a terrible thing happens, you can just pick up, move on. I’d always been able to do that. Until now. Edward had been dead for over a year, and I was still… grieving. That’s not quite right. Edward hadn’t been dead for almost two years. In two days, just two short days, I would be celebrating the second anniversary of his death.

Celebrating. Yeah.

I could be at home. I could be tucking Becca into bed, putting Anna into her crib and kissing them both good night. Instead, I found myself standing alone, in the dark, in the middle of a cemetery, several states away from my babies.

Instead, I was laying a circle and finishing the ritual that called a zombie from its grave. I hadn’t needed much blood, the zombie wasn’t old. I’d been able to get by with a small cut to my forearm, carefully placed between the various scars.

It didn’t take long, once it was called. A few moments to drink some blood, another few to gather its memory. No, not long at all. In under two minutes I was staring at my dead husband’s deceased first wife. And trying, for the life of me, not to cry.

She at least had had a better and more fulfilling relationship with Edward, even if she did get killed.

She was smiling at me, very blank looking. For a moment I thought that she didn’t know she was dead. And I really didn’t want to be the one to tell her that. As it was, I was going to have to be very careful in what I said so that I didn’t tell her that Peter was dead.

But she took care of it for me, speaking to me in a clear, very human sounding voice. “Anita, why did you raise me?”

I almost laughed, relieved at the question. But when I tried, I found I couldn’t. No, the only thing bubbling up in my throat were the questions I needed her to answer. Her, and only her. Because she was the only other person who I thought maybe could help me.

“Is something wrong with the kids?” she asked, looking around. “Where are they?”

“I didn’t bring them,” I answered. My voice was soft but carried easily on the cool desert air. “Becca is too young, and I didn’t want to bring one without the other.”

She nodded, apparently approving of my reasoning. And I had gotten around the issue of Peter’s death easily. Great. Or so I thought. I should have known that Donna, even as a zombie, wouldn’t make it easy on me.

“Where’s Ted?”

That I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer, I found, as my throat tightened and the words refused to be spoken. I know she saw, I could see it in the fear on her face.

“Where’s Ted? Where is he? Is he with the kids?”

I shook my head. When I could finally speak, I said, “The kids are at my house, they’re in St. Louis. They’re safe.”

“Why?”

She really got to the point. But this, this was easy and I could answer it with no problem, the pain in my chest fading as we veered from the subject of Edward.

“After you were killed, Ted thought they would be safer where there were more people to look out for them. So he brought them to me, and by extension, almost the entire preternatural community of St. Louis.”

It was a little speech that I’d worked on, because I knew she would want to know. And it sounded better that way instead of how it really happened. Umm, yeah, I married your husband, got knocked up, adopted your daughter, then…

See? Much better the other way.

“And Ted?”

I shook my head. “He, umm. Oh God, he’s dead.” I brushed my hands across my cheeks furiously, trying to wipe away the sudden tears.

Donna took a step forward and laid a hand on my shoulder. I tried not to flinch away. No matter how human they looked, I could never be comfortable around zombies.

“Is that why you raised me?” she asked. “To tell me he was dead?”

I shook my head again. “No, I wanted to ask you something.”

She waited.

“H-h-how do you get over i-it?” I stumbled over the words before I rushed it out to finish it. Because once I had said it, she would know. “How do you get over losing someone you love?”

She just stared at me.

I stared back for a minute, then looked down at the ground. “It didn’t happen before you died. Or even right after. I swear, I never meant for it to happen.”

Oh, the irony. I was apologizing to a zombie for falling in love with her husband after she had died.

I looked up, steeling myself for her anger. But instead, she was smiling. “I know,” she was saying. “You are far too moral to do something like that.”

I bit back the laugh. If only she knew how far I had fallen.

“Time,” she said. “Time took care of a lot of it. And I focused on the children.”

I nodded. Sage advice, this. I was already doing it. But I wasn’t enough. It was never enough for me. I couldn’t’ move past it, and maybe it was because Van Cleef was still out there somewhere.

“How did he die?”

I flinched. “He died saving me and the kids.” Again, careful editing. “He was killed by the same man who ordered your murder.”

She tensed. Then a saw an odd smile spread across her face. “There’s only other thing I can offer you, Anita. I was comforted by knowing that the monster that killed John had been killed as well.”

Even if by Peter, I thought. And nodded.

It was something I could understand, revenge. Oh yes, I could understand it very well.

“Revenge?” I asked, staring at her. I really didn’t expect her to say something like that, she had always been too much on the sunshine side of life.

But she was nodding and saying, “Yes. Revenge. It helps a lot, knowing that the person or people who have ripped your world apart have now been ripped from this world. It’s the only other thing that I know of to help you.”

“Oh.” Yes, very sophisticated.

I picked up my machete and moved forward, to start the ritual to lay her back into her grave. She was waiting patiently, almost as if she were ready to be dead again. I blinked as I made the first move to end it, and she took a step toward me.

Donna reached out a hand and pulled me close, almost into a hug. But I found her whispering into my ear. “He loved you. Anyone with two eyes could see it, I knew it that first time when you came to Santa Fe. I hated you for it.”

I stepped back, eyes wide and startled. “You hated me? Why would you hate me?” I was bewildered. “ _You_ were the one marrying him, not me.”

She smiled knowingly. “I hated you because he loved you in a way that he could never love me.”

The machete fell from my now nerveless hand and I felt the magic that animated Donna break with a snap. It was audible to me and I watched as she began to melt back into the ground, back to the rest she deserved.

But before she sank completely, I found myself asking her one more question. “The revenge, is it enough?” I asked, hurriedly and desperate.

“No,” she answered as she sank further. “No, Anita. It’s never enough. Nothing ever is.”

Then she was gone and I was, once again, alone.


	2. Chapter 2

The phone was ringing when I cracked my eyes. Once again, I’d forgotten to turn the damned answering machine on again. And damn it all, it was Saturday, the one day of the week I might possibly be able to sleep a little late, if Anna didn’t wake up cranky.

She was cutting her two-year molars, but usually she was content to play by herself in her crib every morning for a couple hours before demanding to be taken out. At first, I thought there was something wrong with it, like maybe I was neglecting her.

But every time I tried to take her out, she refused and screamed bloody murder when I took her out anyway. It was a comfortable arrangement that way, because I was usually up before Anna fussed. And if I wasn’t, Becca was more the happy to take her baby sister out and play with her while mommy had her first cup of coffee.

Every other damned day I had to be up at the ass crack of dawn for school, daycare, or church. Yes, I’ve been going to church again. Every Sunday, like a good little Episcopalian. Becca seems to take to it well, finding it very… comforting when compared to the more erratic beliefs of Donna.

I think that she just finds comfort in the afterlife that Christianity brings with it. It lets her believe that the people she’s lost are safe, and happy. And in no more pain.

I was just sitting up to reach over and answer the phone when I heard Becca pick it up. Her voice was light and sunny as she spoke, “Good morning, Blake residence.”

There was a squeal of delight.

“Oh, hi Elmer! No, Mom’s still asleep.” A pause. “She got in late.” A laugh. “Yeah, she’s been taking some extra raisings to pay for Christmas. That’s what she says.”

I rolled my eyes. Then stifled a laugh. It was true enough, I wanted to make sure that Christmas would be decent, even if it was still months away.

“Really?” Her voice lost the bright tone, and she grew more serious. “Alright, I’ll wake her up.”

I was already sitting up and had the blankets bunched at my waist when the door creaked open. “Mom? Phone.”

I brushed a hand through my hair, pushing the much shorter curls out of my face and then taking a hair tie from the nightstand and capturing it back. Becca’s face was shadowed, and suddenly I worried at whatever Elmer had told her on the phone.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” I asked.

She just shook her head and held the phone out to me. I took it and tucked it to my ear, held firmly between cheek and shoulder. Then I lifted the comforter and held the other arm out to Becca. She crawled in and cuddled to me as I finally said hello to Elmer.

“It’s early, Elmer. Who’s dead?” I asked. In two years I still haven’t learned much tact.

The voice that came across the line was not what I was expecting. Instead of a very country and soft-spoken voice, I got rich velvet French. “ _Ma cherie_ , you always think that someone is dead.”

Asher’s voice rolled over me as he laughed, and for all of it I could still sense the unhappiness that colored his tone. I tried not to tense, but my body betrayed me. Becca was looking up at me from where she lay, and I couldn’t help but think how sweet she looked in that moment, and how she didn’t deserve the fear and worry that marred her face.

Her bright blond curls were strewn down her cheeks, and her blue eyes wide and hesitant. She reminded me so much of Edward, despite the fact that she wasn’t his by blood. I bit back the sudden ache in my chest and concentrated on the phone.

“You never call me this early unless someone is dead or dying. Last time it was when one of your vampires had a run in with a semi and wouldn’t stop bleeding. The time before it was when one of the leopards got in trouble with the pack. Before that—”

He cut me off before I could keep listing all of the emergencies he had called me for in the last year. It wouldn’t do to remind him that one of those occasions was when he had been challenged for the city, and I had been part of his back-up. No, not at all.

It was the last time I’d ever do it.

He sighed over the phone. “I have most disturbing news for you, _cherie_. You made a request of me some time ago. I have fulfilled it.”

I could feel the blood draining out of my face, and by heart beating that much faster. I had only asked Asher for one thing in the last two years, that he had not already done. The only thing left unfinished, the most important.

“You found him?” I breathed into the phone.

For a moment, the world stopped around me as I waited for his answer. The final yes that would send me into my last and most dangerous mission. That of vengeance, twice over and long awaited.

His voice was dark and sleek as he finally said it. “Yes, _ma cherie_ , I have found this man, this Van Cleef.” Even through the phone I could hear the way he wrinkled his nose and curled his lips in distaste.

Asher had little use for violence now, he ruled the city much like Jean-Claude did, but with less trouble form his minions. It was because of the torment he had underwent all those centuries ago at the hands of priests trying to ‘free him.’

But even before that, I think that he had a natural distaste for senseless violence. And especially since then, since his loss of Jean-Claude. Since we all lost people we cared about during the havoc that wrecked our city and lives two years prior.

We had lost so many. Some to Olaf, a deranged lunatic. Some to me, when I was possessed by Raina.

And one to Van Cleef. I don’t count Donna in this, Asher never knew her, though he sympathized for Becca’s sake. No, his pity was for me and the children because of Edward’s loss.

Even worse, because after Edward’s death other things had come to light.

I had once blamed him and drove him away from myself and the girls when I believed that he had killed Jean-Claude. But it was Asher, and Elmer, who found it to be Olaf. And that Edward had killed Olaf in a last-ditch effort to keep me safe.

That way Richard would not be killed. Because if Richard died, there was no way for me to survive.

I breathed in. “Where is he?”

Asher exhaled sharply. “This I will not give you. Not yet,” he added, forestalling my angry protest.

“First you must make your arrangements. I will see to the children myself,” he said in a more pleasant tone. “They trust me and Elmer, and I know that between us and the Circus, we can keep them safe even if hell decides to open beneath our feet.”

The vehemence in his voice surprised me. “What else would I need to worry about, then?” I asked.

“Ah, Anita,” he said. “You should make your arrangements.”

It hit me then, that he didn’t expect me to come back alive. That he wanted me to make arrangements for my death, and afterwards. I shuddered involuntarily and pulled Becca closer to my side.

“And once I do?”

“Then I will give you what you seek.”

I smiled, feeling it stretch in a painful parody of happiness. “I’ll see you tonight then, Asher.”

There was a click, and I hung my phone up. I looked down at Becca and listened to the sound of Anna’s high-pitched giggles down the hall. This time when I smiled, it was very real.

No, Asher was afraid that I would die. And maybe at one point I would have let it happen. But not anymore. I had too much to live for. Donna was right, the kids do help, and I hugged Becca.

“Sweetie, I’m going to be going somewhere,” I said, trying to think of the best way to tell her.

She looked up at me, eyes narrowing. I knew she had heard at least some of it, but I hadn’t realized until then how much.

“You’re going to get the guy who killed Daddy, aren’t you?” Her voice was hard and much older than her almost ten years.

I nodded.

“Good,” she said, in that same hard, cold voice.

Revenge. What a funny thing, to realize that she wanted it too. And a frightening thing to realize that after so much time, we were both finally going to get it.


	3. Chapter 3

Making arrangements was easier said than done, I discovered the next day as I tried to go about it. It took me almost week just to get my new will written and legal all to my approval. But when it was finished it was worthy of the week that it took.

Everything I had would go in trust to Becca and Anna, with Asher and Elmer standing as trust holders until the girls were of age. And, should something happen to either of them, about a dozen pages of specific orders concerning my estates and the carrying out of my last wishes.

No one but the girls or Asher and Elmer could touch it. Well, Edward could have. As my spouse he could have, if he weren’t dead.

I also did three raisings that I would never have touched before. But the money was something I wanted to be able to put away for the girls, so I did them. But I did them my way.

The first one was some nutcase he wanted Marilyn Monroe raised, which required a short overnight stay in California. But I made him take backseat to it and invited several noted scientists to come and interview the zombie in an effort to find out exactly what it was that killed her.

Or rather, the specific order that she took the pills in. I also invited a shrink to come, because I wanted to know personally what drove her to it.

Go figure, it was an accident. Poor woman. But the raising earned me nearly four million dollars in less than an hour.

The second was one that I’ll never forget. Someone had finally gotten around to putting the original vision for America to the test and wanted George Washington raised. It was… informative. But anyone could have told him that good old G.W. wasn’t going to approve of anything in the 21st century because he’d been dead for three hundred and then some years.

But between the politicians and the historical societies who attended, it was almost another two million.

The last wasn’t for money. The last was for me. And the last failed utterly.

I tried to raise Edward. I went to the razed lot where the factory used to stand before it had exploded. I didn’t have much hope for it. No one ever found any bodies, or even pieces. So it was assumed that Edward had burned along with part of the building.

I got my answer that night. Instead of raising Edward, I only raised a storm, and at least there was no one there when I cried.

The next morning I was packing bags for Becca and Anna, making sure there were enough diapers, clothes. Becca was actually doing her own while I supervised. I was really trying to keep Anna from dumping toys into the bag. Or pull out everything I put in.

I swear, two-year-old’s have the market cornered on energy supplements, because whatever that child was on, I could barely keep up with her.

The thought was sobering, as I realized that yes, Anna was two, and in less than two weeks Becca would be turning ten. I had to be finished, I had to be back for. I also had to give Asher and Elmer my credit card and free rein to plan the party, because I’d completely forgotten in the news of finding Van Cleef.

I sighed and she looked up at me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, sweetie, I’m just tired.”

“You went there again last night, didn’t you?” she asked, sounding perfectly reasonable and adult.

She was so grown up sometimes that it hurt. Especially when it came to things concerning Edward. I could only nod.

She zipped her bag and tossed it down by the bedroom door, then picked Anna up and took her over to her toy box, dumping out a handful of jumbo-sized Lego’s. Anna squealed and immediately shoved one in her mouth and started hitting the toy box with another, completely enthralled.

“It’s almost done, Mom. Right?” she asked without looking at me.

My breath caught in my throat and I swallowed. “Yeah, almost,” I answered, reaching to stroke her blond curls gently.

Becca looked back over her shoulder at me, and I caught a glimpse of what she might look like in five years’ time. It was frighteningly breathtaking, large blue eyes with thick dark lashes, and blond curls that might fall unheeded down her back if she never cut them off.

She was already starting to show the curves that weren’t too far away, and I wondered how I would cope with puberty. It was a frightening thought, even more frightening than the possibility that I might be killed by Van Cleef.

I made a mental note to look into buying a new house when I got back. Something closer to the city and with a different layout. And at least five bedrooms, because I needed one for me, one for Becca—she really was old enough to have her own room, one for Anna, an office, and a guest room.

I nearly laughed as I realized that I was planning on buying a new house despite the fact that I might be dead in less than a day. It really was ironic.

So instead of thinking about it I finished readying Becca and Anna, and then headed for the Circus.

Elmer was waiting for me outside when we got there. He hefted the worst of the bags and led the way down to the lower levels while we followed. I carried Anna, but she was burbling excitedly. She knew where she was, and she knew that she always had fun whenever she came to the Circus because she had tons of people to play with her.

It never mattered to her that some were already dead, and that some got furry when the moon was full. And they really were great babysitters. Hell, they’d had years to practice.

Jason and Sylvie were waiting downstairs. Jason took Anna from me with a smile and a worried look that he thought I didn’t see. Then he passed her to Cherry who began talking to Anna about all of the fun things they were going to do while mommy took care of business.

I laughed. Apparently, Cherry had shanghaied Jason into a Disney movie marathon and he wasn’t too pleased about it. But he did just about anything that Cherry wanted and was happy with it. Which is probably why they’d been dating for more than a year.

And, if the looks they gave each other meant anything, I expected that a wedding might possibly be around the corner for them.

Sylvie, on the other hand, had grabbed Becca and dragged her off to one of the other suites of rooms in the lower levels, presumably to do the girl things that she and Gwen were so fond of. Those two had been together for several years, and they were quite good at the mothering thing by now.

And as quickly as that they were whisked away without a goodbye. My throat tightened, but I could understand why Asher had it done. Anything I said to them now would feel too much like good-bye, instead of I’ll see you soon.

It might even be enough to make me lose my edge on Van Cleef.

I swallowed and closed my eyes for a moment, letting my mind go blank. The tension eased out of my body and the knots in my neck and shoulders loosened. I was cool, I was calm.

I was ready to hunt.

I felt him behind me, Asher was making the effort to try and hide from me. But I hadn’t spent the last two years doing nothing but work and mommyhood. I’d spent the time more wisely than that, having Marianne up for weeks at a time to train me into my necromancy, as well as several phone conferences with my own grandmother and John Burke.

It was interesting having them on the phone together. I didn’t learn much while they attempted to teach me, but I learned a great deal more than I expected just by listening to them talk with each other and hash out technique and such.

It was enlightening, especially after I tracked down a few old books that were said to be pieces of the almost mythical Necronomicon. It was true enough that the pages were copied from the book, but I never tried to track the original down itself. The thought wasn’t very pleasant. Strange and dangerous things happen around it and I didn’t need that around my children.

I’d made a point of wearing a black duster I’d had specially made for this specific hunt. It wasn’t leather, that would have been too hot, made too much noise, and stuck to my skin. Instead it was a very soft but sturdy cotton hybrid that was fairly silent and had lots of pockets and storage devices for the things I needed to take.

I had a new shoulder holster on; it was made of leather and was a double-sided design that was cut down to accommodate my smaller build and tilted to adjust for my breasts. On the left side I had my Browning, ready for an easy draw. I knew. I had tested it relentlessly.

On the other side was a Beretta .9 mm. It was clean and oiled and had been scrubbed and blued to within an inch of its life to get it back in top shape after a building collapsed on it. It was Edward’s gun, the only handgun I’d ever seen him carry and use regularly, and his favorite.

It had a clip in it, a clip of one bullet. And I had every intention of seeing that bullet buried in Van Cleef’s head, exactly the way he’d killed Edward.

Among other things inside my coat of many pockets, were a cross, two vials of holy water, my Seacamps, and a variety of silver knives that matched the ones strapped to my forearms and thighs. It was one of these that I drew, letting it lay against my wrist as I turned to face Asher.

I flicked it out, the point a bare hairsbreadth from his abdomen, and he looked down, nonplussed. But I could see the surprise in his eyes.

“You are ready, are you not, _ma cherie_?” he said in a low, sad tone.

I nodded shortly. “Where is he?”

He held out a small folder, and I flipped it open. Clipped to the left side was a stack of several photographs, each of them detailing the man I’d wanted to kill for two years. On the other side were a plane ticket and a neatly scripted address in Atlanta.

I looked at the ticket and then my watch and swore. I only had an hour to get to the airport otherwise I’d miss the plane.

Asher laughed. “You do not need to speed, _cherie_ ,” he said. “The plane will not leave without you; you are its most important passenger.”

I looked at him, trying to think of something to say. Thank you sounded so understated, but it was all I had. “Asher,” I said as I kissed his scarred cheek. “Thank you. For everything.”

He smiled and pressed a kiss to mine. “I will keep your _petits anges_ safe, Anita. I swear it. You have only to come home and claim them.”

I nodded again, and then it was time to begin my hunt.


	4. Chapter 4

The flight was fairly uneventful, I managed to sleep through most of it. When the plane touched down, I used my official looking I’m-with-the-police badge to get off before everyone else. Then it was to the hotel that I’d reserved while on my way to the airport.

I used my own name. There was no reason for me to hide, if Van Cleef thought I was coming there was no way he wouldn’t see through the alias Edward had gotten for me. And if he wasn’t, I wanted him to know. I wanted to put the fear of God in him.

I wanted him to know that I was coming for him, and I wanted him to cower.

Of course, I also wanted to make sure that I could carry all my goodies with me. Dolph had seen fit to pave the way for that, by giving me a reason to go to Atlanta. I was supposed to be doing a private demonstration on execution techniques and other interesting monster hunting things.

Yeah. Right.

So I was well rested when I checked in to my hotel and unloaded my duffels bags. Various knives and guns were laid out carefully on the bed, along with dozens of extra clips and over a hundred boxes of ammo. Always be prepared. Besides, there’s no such thing as overkill.

At least not for this.

The body armor that Edward had had specially made for me followed, laid out carefully. It was clean and freshly armored to make sure that none of the plates were weak. Next to that, the duster that I’d been wearing.

I un-strapped the knives I was already wearing and stripped down to my underwear. My jeans and shirt went into a pile next to my sneakers, and I stood there rifling through the bag wearing next to nothing. I wanted to make sure that I was comfortable in whatever I wore, ready to fight and move.

So I’d bought a set of black fatigues that matched the ones Edward had given me a lifetime before.

I finished stripping, the lace and satin underwear going on top of the clothes. Then I pulled on plain cotton underwear, all black, even the waist band. Then a black cotton bra that was double layered so I didn’t need an under wire. I could imagine stalking Van Cleef with that poking into my boobs every time I moved.

Then a black cotton shirt and the fatigue pants. I had a belt, naturally with a blacked-out buckle, that I cinched at my waist before putting on my shoulder holster and strapping my knives to my arms and thighs. Then I grabbed the guns and put them where they belonged.

Socks and black boots followed, then an old-fashioned army issue sweater, in black. What other color?

Then the duster, with its wonderful pockets and straps to hold whatever I needed. I spent an hour loading my extra clips and arranging them. It felt like I was carrying a ton of lead, but it would be easier if I were forced into a fire fight with Van Cleef.

And then I was ready. It was time. I had the address, the supplies, and I was finally going to get my revenge.

The middle of the night isn’t so bad. It’s those few hours right before the dawn that are the worst. They are the loneliest and most cruel times for someone awake and alone. They’re even worse for a person alone on a stake-out.

I’d about decided that I would never again make fun of anyone who was forced to work these hours when there was finally movement from the bar that I’d been watching since just before nine. My target had come out and was looking around nervously.

Not that I can blame him. The bar was seedy, poorly lit, and from what I could tell, a magnet for stupid bad guys. At least a dozen people had been forcefully ejected from it. Some by the bartender, others because their fights had simply gone outside.

He was short, almost as short as me. His clothes were not new, and not recently washed, but the coat. That was what I was looking at. A leather coat that hit mid-thigh. Real leather, good leather. Something he shouldn’t’ have been able to afford.

He started walking toward me, his head ducked low. But I could tell that he was watching around him. I could only tell because I was watching him so closely. And if I hadn’t, I would never have seen the Uzi that was strapped inside the coat.

That surprised me and made me a little nervous. Because eventually I’d have to kill this guy. Or maybe not, if he led me where I needed.

The address that Asher had given me was a reputable enough building. A law firm, of all things. And well-guarded. I hadn’t even tried to get inside when I saw that you had to have a pass code to get through the front door. The metal detectors didn’t work, they seemed more for show. I’d seen enough guns get past them.

But then, that could be programmed to each individual since they had to punch in their personal code. Wouldn’t surprise me, Van Cleef was nothing if not efficient. And anal retentive.

My best chance was to steal a code and get into the building. And since I’d seen this guy come out earlier, I knew he could get back in. but the question was, would I have to force him to tell, or could I get it another way? I was hoping another way.

My luck was staying with me, he was walking right past me and heading back to the downtown area that Van Cleef’s building was in. I simply followed him, counting on my senses to keep him in range. I still had a slight boost from being what was left of a triumvirate.

The marks weren’t what they were before, but I could still feel Richard sometimes. And sometimes I could squeeze the doorway open and use the pack for my needs. He was expecting that tonight. Any night that I was gone, knowing that denying it might kill me.

Besides, Richard wanted Van Cleef dead as much as me. Simply on the grounds that he had created someone as dangerous as Edward and might eventually come back for me. We weren’t sure if one of us dying would kill the other, and we knew that we wouldn’t live like a true triumvirate.

There was no way we could try and grasp immortality with the tattered remains. But there was also no way we were going to test the theory that we’d outlive one’s death. Safety in numbers and all that.

I started closing the gap between us as we neared the darkened building. I wanted to be able to get the code without killing him. Yet. No need to advertise my presence just yet, I still needed to get inside. And if Van Cleef realized how close I was it might make it a little more difficult.

I cut through an alley and came out ahead of him. I’d considered the route earlier and decided it really would be better if I was waiting for him. That way there was no possibility of being caught following the moron.

So when he rounded the corner of the block and made a beeline for the entrance, I was waiting in the shadows across the street. With the marks between me and Richard wide open.

Even with one streetlight out—I’d taken the time to break it earlier—I could still see him easily in the dark. And I could see the annoying little electronic pad that was waiting for someone to punch in the right numbers. And punch he did, not even bothering to shield it with his body.

That had been my biggest concern, but I was really beginning to wonder what kind of idiots Van Cleef trained. Simon had been good. Not as good as Edward, but good. And unfortunately for Van Cleef, I think that Simon and Edward may have been his only good pupils.

Of course, no one was as good as Edward.

My jaw clenched of its own accord at the thought of him, and I narrowed my eyes. I waited, he glanced around, and in went the numbers. I almost choked. And it really made me angrier with Van Cleef.

The code was my anniversary.

_ What would have been my anniversary _ , I corrected myself silently as my hands curled into fists. Would have been, and since he’s decided to commemorate the day, I think I can oblige him.

After all, there’s nothing like a blood bath to honor Death.

The door swung open and the moron walked in, whistling. A smile twisted across my face as I followed.


	5. Chapter 5

I sent a wave of apology down the link to Richard, and then snapped the connection of the marks. Mentally, I was inside a smooth walled tower, and there was no way that anyone would interfere with what I was about to do. More than that, there was no way anyone could help me do it.

No, this was all me. Fitting homage to him, I thought.

I left the guns holstered and silently unsheathed the knives along my thighs. As long as them, and honed to a deadly sharpness on the dual edged blade. I lay them flat against my forearms, hilts cold and close in my hands.

My own senses, however slightly enhanced they still were, were enough to hear and see the faint shadows in a room off of the main lobby. People, three of them, dressed in guard uniforms and watching the feed from close circuited security cameras.

They didn’t even hear me as I walked up behind them and let the knives flick out a little so that the blades were in plain sight. Obvious.

They didn’t see anything until the camera in the room lit on it, flicked and flashed across the screen, showing me behind them, the death on my face ready to be delivered by my hands.

One of them spoke. “Hey, go back to that last camera,” he said, still not understanding.

They did, each of them fumbling for their sidearms as they turned, all of them, too slow to move, to stand. My blades flashed out in silver arcs catching the two on either side of me at the throat. They moved smoothly through the flesh, not even catching in the bone and gristle of their spines.

That done, they fell back and to the side, blood gushing and guns never clearing their holsters. The one in front had his out but not even close to aimed when my arms crossed, knives biting into his neck and damn near severing his head.

He continued raising the gun even as his head slid to the side and then back over his shoulders, dangling as he fell. The gun completed the arc before starting to drop, and I thought for a moment that maybe he would have had a chance to kill me if he’d twitched.

Then he was laying there in a growing pool of blood as I pulled their weapons and searched all three bodies for more. When I had them all, I dropped clips and took them and the blades I found to the front and tossed them out the door, closing it with a quiet snick.

Now, the hunt was really on. And there was no one to see me.

There were no lower levels that I could find. I didn’t even find a hint of lower levels when I did inch the marks back open for a moment. Richard’s concern came through strong, and I shoved it back as I tried to find heartbeats, scents, anything human or manmade that didn’t belong under the structure.

But there was nothing, and I closed them back off as I made to move higher. The first few floors were empty, and I kept moving up using the stairwell. There was only one, which was odd to me, I thought there should have been more.

But knowing Van Cleef, he may have preferred to keep targets in one area as they moved. And there was no way I was taking the elevator. A moving metal coffin? I don’t think so.

Around the third floor I came across the remains of what looked like a dinner. But I didn’t find the diners on that floor, or even the fourth and fifth floors. But on the sixth, I hit the jackpot. There was a ‘board-meeting’ in a large glass-walled conference room. I could see them perfectly.

The only down to that is that they could see me, too.

And maybe I wouldn’t have killed them if they’d just been evil lawyers. But even the most evil of lawyers don’t carry Uzi’s and 10mm Desert Eagles. These guys did, hence they had to die.

They took care of the glass on their own, which opened me up to a new diversion in throwing knives. I’d been practicing religiously for the better part of eight months and now, even when moving, I usually hit what I aimed for. Not always a killing blow, but even then it still hurt them.

It made them bleed.

And I wanted them to bleed. I wanted them to pay. So with one hand I got off a few shots with the Browning and with the other I pulled the first of six matched throwing knives and threw. It took one of the men in the throat, sending blood gushing down his white shirtfront as his hands clutched at it.

Two bullets hit a woman in her chest, another two took a man in the thigh then the lower stomach. I got another knife off into someone else’s stomach. He had more brains than the rest, he yanked it out and tried to throw it back. Unfortunately he hadn’t counted on the barbs along the back of the knives, designed to rip and tear on removal.

I clenched my jaw as it came out, tearing the skin open and letting his intestines bulge out. He screamed and collapsed writhing, and I ducked into an office as bullets sprayed toward me. If I had my count correct, there were five left, and all would be armed now, having picked up their fallen comrades’ guns.

This called for special measures, I decided as I snaked my hand around the edge of the door and fired a few random shots. With the other hand I yanked some sunglasses out and shoved them on, then pulled a ball out of my pocket.

It was something that Edward had been developing, and while it didn’t give off the intended UV rays to toast vampires, it did shine really, really bright. For about 10 seconds. And if you weren’t prepared it would blind you. Of course, even if they did have sunglasses, it wouldn’t save them.

I pressed a small button on the top, until it sank into the sphere, then chucked it around the corner. I heard one shout of, “Grenade!” and then there was a brilliant flash of light. I burrowed my face into my knees and pressed my hands around the edges of the glasses.

They screamed and screamed. And screamed. And when they were done, and were only whimpering, I came for them.

My gun got tucked away. There would be no noise, no bang to tell them where to shoot. There would only be the hiss of metal on flesh and the gasping sound a person makes when their throat is slit. And I did, sneak behind the first, hand over his mouth and knife dragged across the flesh.

The blood was hot as it splashed me, and he tried to scream, to warn his friends, but he couldn’t. He fell to the floor and I moved to the next. It was a woman, my height, but blonder and blind. I covered her mouth and slid the knife in her back, through the spine, severing it.

There was no attempt at noise, she just dropped.

And again, and again, until I moved to the last one who was rubbing his eyes, fear on his face. “Please,” he said. “Please don’t hurt me, I won’t tell. Just let me go. I have a family.”

I shoved him back, knocking him flat and straddled his chest. My knife went against his throat and blood seeped. “What about me? My family? Did you think of that when you took him away?” I hissed at him.

His face contorted with fear and I knew my answer. He had known, they must all have known if he did. And he hadn’t cared. The knife bit deep with my weight behind it driving it through flesh, bone and gristle until it thunked against the tiled floor.

His head slipped back and rolled.

The next two floors were empty, but when I stepped back into the stairwell to move to the ninth floor, the top floor, I tensed. I could feel it. There was someone else in the stairwell below me, on the curve that let them hide. They were waiting for me to move up, waiting to shoot me in the back.

Unless I shot them first. Which I would. I had the Browning out in front of me, I kept it aimed at the gap in the railing, looking for the telltale shadow. And when I saw it, I shot. Once, in the head. Then I rounded the corner to have a look.

He was big, tall. And wearing body armor. Once of Van Cleef’s, unless I was mistaken.

I was getting close. He was definitely on the top floor. Most likely not the roof, but even there I would have him. He couldn’t escape me, and I was going to kill him.

I came out of the stairwell onto the ninth floor with my gun blazing. I kicked the door open and fired a few shots without even seeing if anyone was there. It turns out it was a good thing. Three men lunged for cover and I dove myself, into the hallway and came up out of the roll with the Browning still going.

A few shots hit me as I took one man out with a very lucky shot to the head as he peeked around, expecting me to go down with the hits I took. But they didn’t kill me. Hurt like hell, and gave me a jolt. I’d probably have a bruise on my chest the size of Texas for the next year.

But it didn’t kill me.

I took careful aim after that, when I saw a gun peek around. The bullet took the handout, almost making it explode, and the gun dropped as he screamed and jerked it back. I stood and ran to him, going around the corner with the gun out, and giving him a vicious kick in the face that sent him sprawling.

Then I landed on top of him as a shot took me in the back. Thank Edward for the body armor, or it would have killed me. As it was, I was really hurting as I rolled to the side, pulling another knife and sending it flying at the man who’d shot me.

It hit his thigh and quivered there. He didn’t flinch as he yanked it out and sent it end over end back at me. I very nearly took it in the face, but I ducked just in time for it to land near my head, in my hair, anchoring me to the ground.

I raised the Browning and fired. And nothing happened. I was out of ammo. He fired, and so was he. We dropped the clips at the same time, but he was marginally faster in getting his new one in, and had the gun loaded and aimed before me.

He stepped forward, even with my legs. I could have kicked him in the crotch, but I wasn’t sure it would do any good. He made ready to fire as I raised my hands and kicked my right foot onto the floor. With a snick and a snap, a blade jutted out, and he glanced down.

Then back up, finger starting to tighten as I kicked up and buried the knife in his groin. He gasped, made a high-pitched wailing sound as I dug it further in, and then yanked a knife off of my arm and slashed him across the legs.

Then I buried the knife in his inner thigh, feeling the warm blood gush over my hand. I knew I had hit the femoral artery, and he went down.

I reached back, hand grabbing the knife and yanking it out, hair coming with it. And just as the man clutching his hand and broken and bloodied face moved to hit me, I buried it in his ear. There was clapping behind be as I rose, covered in blood and I jerked the Browning up to the sound.

“Bravo, Ms. Blake. Even Edward would be impressed.”

Van Cleef stood watching me, unflinching and unsurprised.

I simply aimed and shot him.


	6. Chapter 6

“Fuck,” I whispered as the bullet impaled itself in the sheet of glass between us. And again, “Fuck,” as it remained. Bulletproof glass. Should have known the bastard would hide behind something, even that.

I levered myself up, gun still out and at the ready as he continued to observe me from behind the shield of glass. For a moment I wondered how many shots it would take to break through it, and let loose another round, watching as the glass absorbed the impact with barely a pattern to its breaking web.

“Tut-tut, Ms. Blake,” he said as he rapped his knuckles across the glass. I glanced down the pane, trying to see where it ended so that I could get around it and to him.

But it was too dark, and the bullets’ impact only spread tension so far. I could tell, but even so began moving down to the far side of the building, away from the elevators. If it had been there, the goons would have been waiting for me behind it, at the edge, and shooting me from there.

If they could, or if they’d had enough brains. And I would have been dead, then.

Van Cleef kept pace with me as I moved further down, gun always out and aimed at his head. He had a terrible smile on his face and his eyes bright in the darkened hall. He had his hands at his sides, empty but never straying too far from his waist and, I’m sure, his gun.

“He’d be proud of you, Anita,” he said. So very proud that he taught you as well as he did. That you lasted this long.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Shut up. Come on the other side of that glass you coward. Come and face me like a real man.”

He laughed at me, but I could hear that it was strained. I pushed him further. “Edward would have. I bet he had to sit still to let you shoot him in the head. You never would have gotten him if you hadn’t had to blackmail him.”

I licked my lips, fingers tight on the trigger. “Does it bother you? That you had to cheat? You’ll never be half the man that Edward was, even if you kill me, you’ll still have to think about how you got him to take that bullet.”

“As you ask, Ms. Blake,” he muttered. I could see the anger on his face before he faded into the shadows behind him. “Find me, then, if I’m such a coward.”

I laughed as I realized the glass had given out. “You’re hiding.” It was all I said. It was all I had to.

The son of a bitch had really gone into hiding. I’d searched the floor more than once, and I knew he hadn’t taken the stairs or the elevator. I’d been listening for them, and there was no way he would have gotten past me to either, at any rate. Which only left one way to go.

Up.

One last sleep, this time with all the lights blazing and I found the stairwell to the roof on the other end of the building. The door at the top was propped open. I cursed. No wonder I hadn’t heard him go out sooner. If I had, I might have been able to finish this that much faster.

Just proves what a wuss he is, anyway. Has to play tricks, hide.

I muttered something rude and completely crude under my breath as I started up the short stairwell and poked my gun out the door in front of me. There was a crackling sound to my right and I threw my body to the left just as a bullet whizzed by where my hand had been moments before.

I rolled and then came up on my knees, flinging myself behind the stairwell. A quick glance confirmed that Van Cleef and I were alone up here, and that there was next to nothing to hide behind. That, and from where he sat, I was pretty much trapped.

I had two regular grenades, but neither of those was an option. The chance that any charge I set off up here would injure me was too high. And the light grenades? Nope, only had the one. Granted, I had knives galore, and lots of clips. And Edward’s Beretta.

But not much else.

And I really didn’t want to get into a firefight with Van Cleef. There was a very good chance that he had more ammunition that I did. And there was no question that he knew how to use it. None at all. I winced and pulled my hand back around to clutch it to my chest.

There was a nice bleeding and slightly gaping hole right between my thumb and forefinger. It hurt like a bitch and I bit back a scream as I tore a strip of my shirt off and bound the wound tightly. I couldn’t tell if the bandage was bleeding to red since it was black, but I figured it was.

The grip of my Browning was slick now, and the pain made it harder to hold, to fire. I had to end it soon. But how? And then it occurred to me. I may be short, but I’m agile and flexible thanks to all of my martial arts training.

And the roof of the little outcropping that the stairs let out from wasn’t too very high. And maybe it would be so hard for me to scramble up there and get one good shot and Van Cleef. Maybe.

I’d definitely have the advantage of height. I’d have to start firing almost before I could see where to aim to keep him from shooting me. And that was only if he didn’t manage to figure out what I was doing before I was finished climbing.

Otherwise I was as good as dead.

But it was a better plan than nothing, and I knew that it was only a matter of time before he won out in a gun fight. So I dropped the nearly empty clip I had and jammed another one, wincing as the violent motion set off fresh bursts of pain.

I laid down a quick few rounds before leaning back and dragging out another clip. I fired a handful of times more around the corner, attempting to make him think I was staying till, then stood, backed off a few steps and took a running leap.

Tears streamed from my eyes as the flesh around the bullet wound stretched and tore and bled. I left a bloody trail as I pulled myself up by main force and will power. Just in time to lay a few rounds down from above and then drop the clip. I threw it behind me and loaded another one then glanced over the roof, looking for the target.

And there he was, maybe a dozen feet away from where I was sitting, yards away from his own point of cover. He was looking down, around where I had been, he hadn’t yet realized that the random fire he’d just received was from above.

And all I could do was laugh as I raised my gun and aimed. He had a moment to look up, then the first bullet took him, in the elbow of his right arm. His hand went nerveless and dropped his gun, and as he tried to drop and scramble for it, I took it out his other elbow.

About then he realized he was in danger, started turning around and trying to find a way to avoid me. But he had overplayed his hand, underestimated me, and now he would pay the price. I let him get turned around before sending bullets crashing through his knees, tearing the flesh and shattering bone.

He screamed and went down. I followed, taking a leap and letting my knees take the force of the impact, bending and stooping with it. I straightened and stalked to where he was lying, bloodied and mewling with the pain that he couldn’t stop.

He couldn’t even roll over. I smiled and kicked him, hard in the side. He slid a foot or so, went over on his back. Coughed blood from where I’d broken a rib. It had punctured his lung.

The second he realized I was there next to him he grew quiet, iron will and self-control letting him bite back on the pain. But I didn’t care. I yanked a knife from in my coat and slid it down his chest, parting fabric and drawing blood.

“He would have been proud of me, wouldn’t he?” I asked softly as I buried the shining steel in his gut, taking care to aim for all the important organs. “How about you? Are you scared yet?”

He didn’t answer, and I squatted there, elbows on knees, blood dripping from my hand. The Browning dangled from my hand and I carelessly passed it to the other hand, the uninjured one, and slid it back into the holster without looking.

“Are you afraid yet? You really should be,” I whispered into the darkness, smiling as I felt the first pressure of light as the sun prepared to rise.

The Beretta was heavy against my side. I drew it almost reverently, holding the butt firmly in my slick palm and holding it where he could see it. Van Cleef’s eyes widened, and I smiled. “Fitting, isn’t it? That I should kill you with the gun of your best assassin. My husband’s gun,” I said harshly, biting back the sudden well of tears.

“Killing me won’t bring him back.”

I hit him once, twice with the gun, baring my teeth as I heard the cartilage in his nose snap and break. Blood flowed and his eyes ran with tears of pain. “Shut up. Shut up!” I almost yelled.

“Don’t talk about him. Don’t you ever fucking talk about him!” I was screaming now and crying. “You took him away from us. From me and his children and left us alone.”

He managed a choking laugh. “He never had children. You know that as well as I, Ms. Blake.”

I pressed the gun to his temple, leaning in very close. “Only a fool would have thought that,” I whispered. “Becca, he adopted her. But you knew that, didn’t you?”

I laughed as I ground the barrel into his flesh, causing it to tear underneath the pressure against his skull. “But you never thought for a second I slept with him, that I love him. Loved him,” I amended with a swallow. “Anna is Edward’s daughter.”

The silence was unbearable. It was the first time I had ever said it out loud. Ever been so blunt. And it nearly killed me. _You don’t have any family, Edward_. I could almost hear the words as they echoed back to from the past.

The last things I had said to him were so cruel. So stupid and foolish and cruel. I shook my head. “Killing you won’t bring him back,” I whispered. “But I’ve always been a strong believer in revenge.”

I pulled the trigger.


	7. Chapter 7

A quick stop at a hospital was enough to get my hand stitched up. They didn’t ask questions, didn’t prod for answers. Left me alone when I flashed my Federal Marshall badge. Not that any of this was legal, but I was fairly sure that if anyone were to pursue the issue of the slaughter at the law firm, I’d be able to wiggle out of it.

Especially since my badge and stuff had been stolen a week ago. And someone who looked a lot like me had been using my ID and credit cards. Naturally, the proper authorities had been notified already. I was simply a victim of a violent identity thief.

I made home in plenty of time for Becca’s tenth birthday party. We held it at the Lupanar, and since there was an abundance of adult supervision, she had plenty of friends who came. It lasted well into the evening and included a weenie roast and toasted marshmallows. And s’mores, even though I wouldn’t touch them.

The real party and gift giving happened the evening after with various members of the pack and pard, as well as Asher and a few vampires we knew at the house. Becca made out like a thief, and there were even a few presents in it for Anna.

Who was at the perfect age to rip and tear and eat the wrapping paper.

I let her.

There was cake and ice cream going on, and I sat Becca down with a huge piece as I began moving her goodies into her room. I was getting them laid out on her bed when she came in behind me and closed the door with a soft snick.

“They can still hear,” I said with a faint smile.

She shrugged. “It’s more the feeling that I want. I don’t care if they hear.” I raised an eyebrow and she just looked at me. “Is it done?” she asked as she laid a gentle hand over my still bandaged one.

I didn’t answer. She slid her arms around my waist, hugging me hard. I held her to me, sighing. “Sweetie, you’re too young to want revenge.”

“I don’t care,” she said, the words muffled by my shirt. “He took my dad away. He made us all hurt. He made you cry. I hope he’s fucking dead.”

“Becca!”

“Well, I do,” she said as she pulled away.

I stroked her hair and nodded. “It’s done.”

“Did he suffer?”

Again her eyes looked far too old and full of pain, and for a moment I was fiercely glad that I had killed Van Cleef and tortured him in the process. I nodded again.

“Good,” she said, her tone old and hard.

I sighed and pulled her back into a hug. It seemed to be enough for her, that he was dead. And for that, I was grateful. But still, I couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t enough. Like there was something else I could have done. Should have done.

But I shoved the feeling away and went to the door, my arm around her shoulders. Her arm was around my waist, thin and strong. She was already growing into a woman, getting taller, beginning to curve. I sighed. No, sometimes revenge wasn’t enough.

“Mom?”

“Hmm?”

She smiled up at me, blazingly bright. “It’s the best birthday present you could have gotten me. Thank you,” she said before opening the door and running off.

And as I walked out, I met the knowing gazes of people who’d been hurt in the crossfire of violence. They looked at me, and I looked back. And we all tried to hide our worry.

But at least, for this one day, it was enough for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I also have some recovered/saved Anita Blake fics (including plenty of A/E, but not only that) stuck on a google drive, [please click here](https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1KQMp7b06-cmAndB_tUv2YS4cPQlsNaMk?usp=sharing) to go check it out and read some more excellent fic.


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